Sunday, January 30, 2005

~Failure

Tried to keep this extra little blog going for the crappy, day-to-day stuff in my life but I hardly write enough for one blog let alone two, so from now on I'll be concentrating on the other one.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

~Achievement

Giving up smoking is good, right? I'm pleased to announce that somehow I managed to stop smoking for eleven whole hours yesterday. How's that for willpower?

Actually, I was asleep for about eight of those hours. As for the other three I was up really late, I'd run out of cigarettes and all the nearby shops were shut. The next morning I couldn't wait for.... well.... you know the rest. Never mind, there's always tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that.

Friday, January 21, 2005

~Blonde

One of the good things about time spent working in pubs and bars is that you get to witness some memorable conversations. Here are a few lines I'll never forget.


Him: "I get the impression most of the people round here are inbred."
Her: "You mean.... like in a sandwich?"


Her: "What the fuck are you staring at?"
Him: "I've no idea.... I've never been very good at puzzles."


Him: "We have the same birthday! That means you're an aquarian too, right?"
Her: "Huh? How does us having the same birthday make me a fish tank?"

~Truth

Remember when in Nirvana's 'Come As You Are', Kurt Cobain kept repeating the line 'I don't have a gun'?

He lied.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

~Ritual

Darkness draws together the shadows across the concrete jungle I call home. A few of the more dominant females venture out into the gathering gloom to call their offspring in before nightfall. One cry rings out louder than all the rest:

"Oy! Get yer fuckin' fat arse in here right now, ya li'l bastard!"

You'd think this mother would have learnt by now that screaming insults and obscenities doesn't really work, but then she's possibly not the brightest firefly in the wood. Fat arse hangs back longer than the rest as he always does, whining in anticipation of that customary clip around the ear. Still, he may be one of the lucky ones since most of his pals' mothers really don't seem to give a shit if their kids stay out all night.

One thing has always baffled me though: who is this woman aiming her insults at when she calls her own child a bastard?

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

~Detour

Years ago, my first wife Connie and I would often....

What?! How many times have I been married? What the hell has that got to do with anything? Well if you really must know, I've been married twice, OK?

Years ago, my first wife Connie and I....

What now?! What? Any children? What difference does it make if I've had any.... oh, never mind. Since you asked, wife number two probably qualifies because I met her when she was still in school. Happy now?

Years ago, my first wi....

Jeesus! What is it this time? You want to know what Connie is short for? Why, for God's sake? Connie is short for Cornelia. Yes yes, I know it's a crappy name. I know the poor girl's parents must have had a really evil streak to come up with that one.... but they were German, and Germans are evil as we all know.... calling their kids Adolf and Wolfgang and such. It could have been much worse: I could have married a girl called Wolfgang.

Now then, where was I?
....
....

Oh, to hell with it.

~Overkill

I don't really understand why they bother with film credits. A mention in the credits is supposed to be a huge pat on the back for contributing to the film in some way, right? It's supposed to help with your career because everyone can see you were involved, right? Well, how can that be, when nobody ever reads them.

Except me, but then I'm just a bit weird.

In my defence I'm usually trying to find out who performed the songs used in the soundtrack, but every now and then I come across something at the end of a film which amuses me. Last night it was something not all that uncommon yet something which never fails to make me smile and think of Monty Python: a credit for the people who produced the credits.

I was still disappointed. This time they completely forgot to say who made the tea.

Monday, January 17, 2005

~Irony

Today I'm supposed to be visiting the doctor. The only trouble is, I just don't feel well enough.

Sunday, January 16, 2005

~Performance

Q: Do people laugh at so-called 'surreal' comedy because they really think it's funny, or because they think they're supposed to think it's funny?

A: A fish.

Friday, January 14, 2005

~Wit

DJ and stand-up comic Phill Jupitus recently revealed that a teacher's comment in one of his school reports read: "Phillip seems to find snail's pace exhausting". While I can't possibly top that, my head of year in the fifth form did write: "I can find little to say about a boy who is an enigma to me".

Made me quite proud, really.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

~Vanity

Everyone should try the Atkins Diet. It requires little or no effort and is pretty much guaranteed to make you a more attractive person.... at least until you end up with colon cancer from a lack of fibre in your diet and have to carry your shit with you everywhere you go.

I wonder if Prada make colostomy bags?

~Excuse

Shock! Horror!

I missed another day's blogging yesterday. I did have something I wanted to say but when it actually came to writing in this thing I found the best reason in the world not to do it:

I couldn't be arsed.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

~Curse

Eat shit and die, motherfucker!

Americans have such a lovely way with words, don't they? Especially when it comes to threats and insults. The funny thing is, you can really take the sting out of this sentence just by adding a teensy weensy little comma, like this:

Eat, shit and die, motherfucker!

Suddenly it's not so much a threat as a really simple set of instructions on how to live out the rest of your life.... except for the part about fucking your mother which I imagine might complicate things a bit.

Monday, January 10, 2005

~Mystery

One thing has always puzzled me....

How the hell do they get Teflon to stick on the pan?

~Sight

There are now two wonderful hundred watt bulbs lighting up my living room and not a single candle in sight. It's a palace of blokeish modernity and what's more, I can see without bumping into things. Praise the Lord! I'm cured!

Well not quite, but you catch my drift.

I never really understood a woman's preference for skulking about in the gloom of the dark ages, preferring smelly and decidedly dangerous candles to safe, clean technology. I have to admit they're right about one thing though: candles do create more of an atmosphere.

Even so, the deepest darkest medieval dungeons have plenty of atmosphere but that doesn't make me want to live in one.

Sunday, January 09, 2005

~Gunk

You know what? I've never met a single bloke who actually likes lipstick. OK, it's obvious Robert Smith has a penchant for it and I'm sure there are other men who do too, but as I said, I've never actually met one. It might come as a shock to most women but in my experience the majority of guys would be much happier if the damned stuff didn't exist.

Lipstick is supposed to make you look sexy, right? Countless TV ads per day convince women that they're simply not attractive enough unless their lips are pumped up to the size of spacehoppers and plastered with the latest shiny, jewel-encrusted chemical waste products, when the truth is it just acts as a barrier. The female mouth is not improved in the slightest by being made to look like a plush red satin sofa, and smothering it in all that slippery crap is about as sexy as filling your gob with razor wire which has been marinated in super-strength garlic for a month.

OK, maybe that last part was a bit of an exaggeration but still.

My ex-girlfriend always mixed her lipstick with a Vaseline-type lip balm and applied it with a brush. She insisted there was nothing more unappealing than cracked or sore lips and refused to listen when I suggested that slimy lips were even more of a turn-off. Whenever I tried to give her a kiss our mouths would shoot off in different directions faster than a first-time rollerskater's legs, and in all our time together we never really did have a jolly good snog.

Come to think of it, perhaps she was trying to tell me something.

Saturday, January 08, 2005

~Din

It's blowing a gale outside.

Somehow I can't help but feel the above declaration is a little overstated. After all, it wouldn't be blowing a gale inside now would it? Nor would it be raining a gale or blowing a heatwave. Still, the sentence looks fine, unlike the weather. Comedian Billy Connolly regularly comes up with a line about there being no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing. I think he stole the catchphrase from an outdoor sportswear manufacturer or something. There's really not much point complaining about the weather so I guess whoever came up with that idea was probably right.

I wonder if I can buy tsunamiproof underpants on eBay....

Friday, January 07, 2005

~Fame

Some dodgy geezer has spent most of the day supposedly tarting up the woodwork outside my flat and he is, quite possibly, the worst painter 'n' decorator in the world.... ever. Not that I'm bothered since I rent this place from a bunch of stuffed shirts who are employed to keep the books by some faceless corporation.

Suddenly I get to thinking. Perhaps it's wrong to call this guy a bad painter. Maybe, just maybe, he's really a brilliant painter who has yet to be discovered. Maybe he spends all his nights forging famous works of art with unbelievable skill, or creating original masterpieces which are light years ahead of their time while clinging to a dream of winning the Turner Prize. Maybe the fact that he's sloshed huge daubs of white gloss all over the masonry is testament to the fact that he's terribly frustrated because his genius has gone unnoticed for so long by an unappreciative art establishment.

Then again, maybe he's just shite.

~Routine

Today's breakfast is made up of coffee and a cigarette. The packaging of my cigarettes is blue for the most part; the packaging of my coffee, on the other hand, isn't.

No, scratch that.... it's nearly lunchtime. Let's try again.

Today's lunch is made up of coffee and a cigarette. The packaging of my cigarettes is blue for the most part; the packaging of my coffee, on the other hand, isn't.

Oh, wait.... wasn't I supposed to give up smoking for the new year? I'd hate for people to think I've got no willpower whatsoever. OK, so here's how it goes.

Today's lunch is made up of coffee and something which looks suspiciously like a cigarette but obviously isn't, since I don't smoke. Forget about the cigarette packaging - it still looks blue but I guess that's just a trick of the light.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

~Omen

I made a new year's resolution to start a new blog on january 1st and to write something in it every day.

Oops.